


I'm sorry, I didn't mean it

by Lizzyboo



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fights, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Making Up, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 20:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzyboo/pseuds/Lizzyboo
Summary: He feels it when Dan’s thumb is wiggling out of his grasp, rubbing the pink skin under his eye relentlessly, making Phil squint.“Stop that,” Dan says. His voice is commanding but also soft and it only makes Phil cry harder.______________________or: the aftermath of a fight





	I'm sorry, I didn't mean it

**Author's Note:**

> a big thank you to my lovely bete transdimensional-void :) <3

The silence in the apartment rings loudly in Phil’s ears, making him too aware of the faint noises coming in from outside the window, filling the room with strange, impersonal sounds that only make the empty space next to him all the more noticeable. 

Loud drunk laughter. Dog barks. Something that is very likely his neighbor moaning in pleasure, followed by a loud banging noise that makes Phil cover his ears with his pillow, groaning in frustration. 

At this time, usually, Phil’s ears are filled with different sounds. Nice sounds. Sometimes murmured in the dark before a good night kiss, covering him like a thick warm blanket. Sometimes loud and full of life and teasing and banter on nights when energy runs high and responsibilities run low and he momentarily allows himself to forget his promise of being a proper adult who goes to sleep at a proper time. 

Either way, these sounds are always comforting, familiar- and very painfully absent at the moment. 

The apartment wasn’t this quiet before, he reminds himself, grimacing into his pillow. Only a few hours ago it was filled with loud, angry words Phil usually knows how to hold back, directed like poisoned arrows towards the person Phil never wants to actually hurt. 

They both said some things, he and Dan. Tension had run high for a couple of weeks now, and Phil knows that his tendency to keep to himself and hold back his hurt, quietly trying to work through things until he can’t possibly keep quiet anymore, is pretty high on the list of reasons why tonight has played out the way it did. 

He isn’t blind to Dan’s struggles. Isn’t blind to the way Dan is working his hardest to overcome things Phil can probably never really understand to their core, trying to make up the missing puzzle pieces with long hours spent on mental health blogs and calls to his mum, who somehow always understands a little better than him. 

And it hurts, sometimes, when it feels like maybe Dan is blind to the way Phil struggles as well, right next to him. 

And maybe he’s been spoiled by Dan. Been spoiled by the way Dan can usually pick up on every little facial expression, every little eyebrow crease, every little sign Phil is trying to hide to avoid adding unnecessary stress, to avoid opening up topics he is sure he can avoid by shoving them deep in a drawer in the back of his mind, locking it until they collect dust and lose their importance. Maybe that’s what makes it hurt so much more, when Dan just lets it happen.

Maybe, sometimes, he wants Dan to notice everything Phil is trying to hide. Maybe he wants Dan to confront him before it all piles up inside his head and spills out of his eyes and ears and mouth, lips forming angry words he never wants to say, eyes leaking angry tears he never intends to cry. 

He knows that mostly, usually, they are good at stopping before they go too far. Good at taking a time out when things get too heated, too close to spiteful. Phil is good at catching himself, good at remembering that he’s mad now but he’ll regret saying what he feels like spitting out later. He’s good at not crossing the line, mostly, usually. Which makes it that much worse when sometimes, he’s not. 

The image of the hurt in Dan’s eyes is still very much burnt into his eyelids, not letting him close his eyes and attempt sleep. Phil’s weak “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” said while watching Dan put on his shoes and coat by the front door, not lifting his eyes to meet Phil’s desperate ones. His retort of “yes, Phil, you did,” before walking out the door, closing it behind him in an alarmingly quiet way, has been playing on repeat in Phil’s mind for the last few hours, making him curl smaller under the covers, shoving his head deeper under his pillow. 

He’s not really worried about where Dan is. Dan answered his anxious text of “Where are you? Please come home,” about an hour ago, telling Phil he’s just walking around not far from their building. Telling him he just needs to clear his head. Telling him to go to sleep. Dan learned, long ago, to not leave Phil hanging with things like that. So Phil is not really worried, not about that at least. He knows, that right now, all he can do is wait. 

*************** 

It’s not before 3 AM that Phil finally hears the front door opening and closing quietly, footsteps going to the kitchen, and then the bathroom. Phil doesn’t know if Dan will come sleep next to him. Doesn’t know if Dan’s expression still shows the hurt it showed before, doesn’t know if he’s covering it with a mask of indifference. 

A part of him wants to get out of bed to check. To confront. To say that he’s sorry again (but also, he thinks bitterly, to remind Dan that they’re both guilty of stepping out of line. That he’s not the only one who said things that shouldn’t be said. That he is not the only one to blame). 

But another part, small but paralyzing, is telling him to stay put. This part is making his legs shake and his breath hitch and his anxiety crawl under his skin because he doesn’t know, and right now he’s afraid to find out. 

His heart is beating loudly in his chest until he finally hears the door to the bedroom creak open, feels a big, warm body settle next to him, his back turned to his.

He’s a little afraid to breathe, afraid to move or turn around because he knows Dan knows he’s awake, but he’s still keeping quiet. 

It takes him a minute to compose himself enough to squeak out a small unsure “Dan?” and it takes another 20 seconds for Dan to sigh out a quiet “yeah.” 

They both turn around then, Phil facing Dan and Dan facing the ceiling, not quite engaging in Phil’s attempt at eye contact, but definitely showing willingness to talk. 

Phil doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to convey his relief and guilt and hurt in words, doesn’t know if he should. He lets his hand wander, instead, hesitantly, testing the water, reaching it towards Dan’s and wrapping his big long fingers in his own, squeezing. 

“Your hand is cold,” Phil says, and when Dan hums in response he’s pulling it toward his face, pressing his hand to his warm lips and cheek. 

Dan’s gaze turns to him then, just in time to see his eyes overflow with emotion, spilling new hot tears without his consent, making his cheeks and nose and Dan’s hand wet with them. Dan looks at him for a moment, and Phil is having trouble reading his face without his glasses and with wetness clouding his eyes, but he feels it when Dan’s thumb is wiggling out of his grasp, rubbing the pink skin under his eye relentlessly, making Phil squint. 

 

“Stop that,” Dan says. His voice is commanding but also soft and it only makes Phil cry harder. 

“I can’t help it,” he says. It’s true, he can’t. He isn’t lying when he says he is starting to cry more frequently with age, starting to get more emotionally affected by things. (“It’s probably all the hormonal changes,” Dan always says with a smirk, “if you don’t hurry, all your mpreg fantasies will be dead.” It always earns him a pillow to the face and a pouty boyfriend, but it’s nothing a kiss on the forehead and a squeeze around the shoulders can’t usually fix.)

Dan doesn’t say anything more, but he’s turning his entire body towards Phil now, gripping his face more firmly under Phil’s warm hand. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Phil says, echoing his words from hours ago. “I was mad, but I didn’t, not really.” 

“Phil-” Dan starts, but Phil stops him by shaking his head against his hold, almost violently. 

“I didn’t, I didn’t,” he repeats, pulling Dan’s hand from his cheek and pressing it to his lips, voice choked against Dan’s fingers. 

“Okay,” Dan says, and Phil knows he isn’t convinced, but it’s okay, it’s better. it’s good enough for now.

“Did you?” he asks, because suddenly it all aches and burns and he’s not the only one who said things, not the only one who needs to apologize and reassure- 

“Maybe I did. A little,” Dan says, and it makes Phil’s hold on Dan’s hand loosen right away, makes him let out a shuddered breath, makes him close his eyes so he doesn’t have to try and see the expression on Dan’s face. 

There’s two hands on his cheeks, almost immediately, holding tight and pulling him closer until their foreheads touch and Dan’s breath is against Phil’s nose. “Phil,” he says, and he can almost feel the word forming against his skin. “Phil,” he says again, waiting for him to open his eyes. 

 

Phil does, because even though his stomach hurts and his chest is tight he doesn’t want to keep Dan waiting. Not for too long, not at all. 

“It’s okay,” Dan says, and this time his lips do touch the skin on the side of Phil’s nose, making his eyes feel heavy again with the weight of salty water threatening to overflow. 

“Is it?” Phil asks, and he brings his hands up too, to cover Dan’s, to keep them in place. 

Dan kisses him again then, this time on the lips. It’s short and salty and dry but Phil understands. 

Dan doesn’t answer him, even if the answer is already there, lingering between them. “I love you,” Dan says instead, when he pulls away. “I love you I love you,” he says again and again, until Phil lets go of his hands, until Phil is pushing himself closer, closer, impossibly close, and wraps his arms around Dan’s body, chest and legs and cheeks pressing together. 

“I love you,” Phil says. “So much,” he adds, because it’s true and it makes his heart ache a little less when he lets it out. 

Phil understands, he knows, without a doubt. There’s still much to talk about tomorrow, probably more feelings to be hurt and more wounds to bandage. Phil understands, he knows, it might not be entirely okay right now, but it will be. They’ll make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a fic for my "100 ways to say i love you" series but i used the words "i love you" so that's cheating haha. i hope you like it! i haven't had a chance to write in a while so i really want to hear your thoughts ^.^


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